


a scent on the wind

by wordsmithraven



Series: A Drink from the Mnemosyne [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Historical, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsmithraven/pseuds/wordsmithraven
Summary: When Magnus fell in love with Imasu, he had no idea how it would end.





	a scent on the wind

**Author's Note:**

> The second in the little vignettes I wrote about Magnus remembering the past. This one completely re-writes the meeting between and the last conversation of Magnus and Imasu in the Bane Chronicles but still adheres to the gist of it.
> 
> Not compliant with show or book.

Imasu Morales had been an unexpected love.

Magnus had been wandering at that point, never staying more than a year anywhere. There had been no place that felt comfortable to him after parting with Camille this latest time, so he had had trouble settling down. He’d had a few adventures with Ragnor in England in the 1870s but even that had only lasted a short time before he had moved on. Especially after…after everything with Jem had happened.

In that time, however, he had been wandering alone. Or alone in Magnus’ way. “Alone” for Magnus meant “away from people who knew the real him.” Most definitely away from any immortals. Like most immortals, Magnus went through periods when he just wanted to do without the laborious effort socializing entailed. However, socializing was also his lifeblood so he compromised by avoiding the Downworld in general and partying with mortals but moving on before he got attached. Over the centuries Magnus had truly perfected the art of being lonely in a crowd. It was perhaps not the best way to deal with his emotions but it was the only bandage he knew that even remotely helped.

Those periods were rare for him, however. He wasn’t like Ragnor, able to retreat into hermitage for a century if desired. Magnus’ bouts of “solitude” usually only lasted a handful of years at most. The periods had been growing longer of late, however, and he feared that if he wasn’t careful he would disconnect completely and start to calcify.

But it was 1885 and he was tired and a little bit afraid of being alone so when Catarina had called him and Ragnor for a job in Peru, he had leapt at the adventure. Besides, Peru was one of his favorite places in the world. They had enjoyed their time together so much—well, Cat and he had enjoyed themselves while Ragnor grumbled, the sourpuss—that Cat had suggested they stay in Peru for a time.

By 1890, they had settled at a small three bedroom flat by the harbor in Puno. The people were amicable, the weather was divine, and Lake Titicaca had some of the most gorgeous water he had ever seen. It was there he had met Imasu Morales.

Magnus had been wandering the market one summer in the late afternoon looking for light entertainment in shopping for a trinket or bauble to collect. The sun was already preparing to set and there had been nothing that really caught his fancy until he smelled a sweet and sharp scent wafting from a narrow alley by a fruit stand. Somehow the aroma had caught his attention even above the smell of fish and vegetables from the market stands on the main causeway. So he had followed it.

Half way down the alley a rolling melody rang out; slow at first, then fast and deep, before trilling high. It was a masterful bit of musical play that made Magnus want to hop. He had always had a weakness for dancing music.

When Magnus had followed that siren’s call to its source, he had found one of the most handsome men he had ever seen.

The man had been sat on a stool next to the stoop of a small inn. Magnus could hear the bustle of people through the door and smelled the alluring aroma some kind of fish meal. Still, as delicious as the food seemed, there was something else that proved more enticing to Magnus.

The man had worn gray trousers and his light cream tunic clung to his chest from sweat. He had been strumming lightly on a beautifully carved charango, polished and gleaming yet somehow still worn.

As Magnus had strode forward, the man looked up at him without pausing his song. His dark hair had flopped lazily over even darker eyes that locked instantly on Magnus’. His shapely lips had curved up at the corner, almost dislodging the cigarillo that rested there.

The man had stopped playing his lovely song, pulled the burning cigarillo from his mouth, and had blown the smoke right in Magnus’ face. Honestly, if he had not been so handsome, Magnus might have been peeved. But he was, so Magnus was not.

The sweet scent Magnus had smelled before had wafted over him, the man smiled again, and Magnus knew right then that he was caught.

Magnus and Imasu had carried on affair for quite some months. Magnus had wooed him by pretending to want to learn how to play the charango. Part of him had legitimately wanted to learn, as he was always eager to gain new skills, but it was mostly to spend time with Imasu.

Many a day had been spent alternating between rolling in the sheets and nestling closely into Imasu’s chest on a window sill as the other man had tried to place Magnus’ hands _just so_ on the charango. More often than not their lessons had devolved into intense kissing and breathless sighs, but at the time Magnus had still thought he was actually improving as an artist. It had not helped that Imasu was quick to praise him with insistent reassurances and flowery compliments.

As it turned out, Magnus was _not_ very good at playing that particular musical instrument. Ragnor and Catarina had eventually made sure he had learned that. Still, his primary goal had remained unaffected for by the time Magnus had come to grips with his woefully poor musical talent, Imasu was already his and the need for artifice was mostly over.

“Mostly” was the key word as Magnus had not worked his way up to telling Imasu the whole truth of himself yet. They had grown closer and closer as the months went by, and every day Magnus could feel the pregnant pause on the wind. Those unsaid truths weighed heavily on his mind the more his heart had become entangled. Yet Magnus’ fear had not abated. It was always so hard to tell if a mortal would react well or poorly to the knowledge that he was a warlock. He had been betrayed before, so he had to choose wisely. Magnus had decided to wait on that particular truth for fear of being hurt or left behind. Still, he had wanted to move the relationship forward, so he had figured he would get it all out of the way in one fell swoop.

Magnus could remember the exact day he had decided to tell Imasu about his magic and ask to live with him. He had woken late in the rooms he was renting with Ragnor and Catarina to find that Imasu had already left, likely to busk in the village market to entertain the shoppers.

Magnus had laid in bed for some minutes, his face as blank as the beige wall of his bedroom. He had known somehow that it was time.

He had washed and dressed, then he had snuck off on his own to Venice to do a little shopping without telling Catarina or Ragnor. They had all made an informal pact to try not to portal away without the others unless it was an emergency but he knew Catarina secretly portalled to Berlin to study up on the latest medical breakthroughs made by some boring German who-ha and, frankly, a good frock coat was an emergency of a similar caliber.

When he had gotten back, he went to Imasu’s home to wait for the other man in his front yard. Imasu’s family were gone as well; each one had different jobs to perform about Puno. Magnus had stripped down to as little as publically decent and had been reclining on a blanket in the afternoon sun, waiting for Imasu to come home from whatever musical endeavors he was up to. Beside him rested a bowl of local fruits that he had secretly charmed not to spoil and not to draw insects.

He had hoped that a deep tan and a sweaty chest might make the entire “magic” talk go over better.

But Imasu had been doing some thinking of his own, and the other man had come to the direct opposite conclusion than Magnus had. While Magnus had been agonizing over how to move their relationship forward, all the while Imasu had been growing more resolute that they were not going anywhere at all.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to go, Magnus,” he had said. His voice had been a tad strange but Magnus had ignored it and plucked a small berry into his mouth.

“Go? Where to? Shall we go on an adventure?” Magnus had answered, trying to decide how best to broach the topic of cohabitation.

“No. I mean, you and your friends should think about leaving Puno.”

Magnus had frozen with his mouth open, just on the cusp of eating more berries.

“What,” Magnus had managed to force out quietly. Shock had taken the wind directly from his sails.

Imasu’s eyes had softened with seeming pity and in that moment a calm swept over Magnus.

“I think it’s time,” Imasu had repeated as he laid his charango and bag on the blanket beside Magnus before dropping onto the grass. His calloused fingers had plucked at the strands of green next to them, twisting blades into knots and tossing them aside.

“You want me to leave?” he had asked, hurt and angry but going cold in an attempt to hide it.

Imasu had sighed. “Are you saying you’re the type who would stay?”

At that moment, Magnus had been presented a chance. He had known that his next words could decide which way it would go for them. Was it pride that had made him respond the way he had? Fear? Pain? Resentment? Centuries later and he still wasn’t quite sure.

Ultimately, it had not mattered what had caused it. Magnus had said exactly the thing that pushed Imasu away.

“It seems you have already decided who I am,” Magnus replied, carefully masking his bitterness. “Who am I to disagree?”

Imasu had grown frustrated. “This is what I mean, Magnus. I said one thing and now you’re ready to concede. You are not even going to argue.”

“Why argue when the decision has already been made?”

“Say something. Anything!” Imasu had jumped up from the ground at that. “You are just confirming that I was right, Magnus. How can I build something permanent with someone like you?”

Magnus’ entire face had closed down for a moment, then he had burst into laughter. It had been a little wild, a little frantic, and utterly sad.

“Oh, my dear Imasu,” he had managed through his ironic mirth. “I would have been the most permanent man you had ever met.”

And that was that for Imasu and Magnus.

He should’ve known from the start they were doomed. The very fact that Imasu had lied to him about his horrendous charango playing should have been the clue. Magnus would have preferred brutal honesty to lies. Cat and Ragnor were not afraid of the truth but Imasu thought to spare his feelings. Lies. Lies and platitudes. Their whole relationship was built on something that started off fun but had never been allowed to grow beyond that. They had so few truths between them, the foundation they stood upon had crumbled from below.

Imasu had not understood that Magnus was the very definition of forever and he had mistook him for the ephemeral. They had not truly known each other. Magnus had ignored the signs and dived head first into love with him but never enough to be completely honest.

 _Is it really love if you hold some of yourself back?_ Magnus could finally wonder. He had no answer for his own question.

After their parting, Magnus had gone on a wild drunken bender. Catarina and Ragnor had found him drunk and inconsolable in the middle of nowhere after a reckless magic carpet ride.

They had left Puno soon after and Magnus had never seen Imasu again. He had kept the charango, however, despite his abysmal skill. Over time, Magnus’ heartbreak after Imasu had eased enough that he could look back fondly on their time together without being too bitter about how it had all ended.

Perhaps he could have turned it around with Imasu. Ragnor had certainly thought so. But Magnus had stubbornly decided not to. Instead, he had deliberately said the exact thing to let the parting run its course, and now the man was nothing but a memory.


End file.
